Diamond Eyes
by Viggorrah
Summary: Gris and Sara get called in to work on their night off and are thrown into one hell of a case. But when seemingly unrelated cases start building up, each more bizarre than the last, the entire CSI team must find the culprit before it's too late. GSR
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** So here's my latest CSI fic. This takes place around mid-8th season, since I miss Grissom and Warrick. There will be a handful of my own OCs in here and eventually there might be some adult situations later in the story. Also, a few of the case descriptions might be graphic, so if you're of the faint of heart don't read 'em. This is going to be an interesting ride because I'm incorporating music from one of my favorite bands into this fic. And not in the usual sense, either; as the story goes on you'll figure out what I mean. So bear with me; I'm sure it'll be fun. And as always, thanks to my beta Darknessslayer0 whose been complaining about his lack of a job. ;P_

**Chapter 1**

So this is what he'd come to.

Robbery.

Sure his mother would strangle him and his dad might chase for a few blocks in his Titan in an attempt to run him over, but these were desperate times.

And if he was anything, he was desperate.

Rick was broke, had been fired from his job, his car had been repoed, and to top it off his girlfriend left him for some rich pansy with a big smile, a foreign accent, and a shiny car.

All in the same week.

Eventful five days, wouldn't you say?

_I hate my life._ Rick thought bitterly, imagining that whore of an ex-girlfriend bouncing in bed on that British... Australian... whatever the hell he was. That **prick**.

But on the bright side, things couldn't get much worse.

So making sure the coast was clear, Rick jumped the fence from the alley and padded softly up to the sliding patio door. Thinking now, he should have checked if there were dogs here.

Shit.

He'd always been more of a cat person. Cats tended to be smaller, more independent, and didn't slobber on everything. But dogs? No.

He hated dogs.

Especially watch dogs.

Thank you, childhood traumatic experience.

Sighing to himself he quietly glanced into the dark home. Satisfied no one was up, he began to pick the lock. Well, _tried_ to. Apparently this lock was different than any other lock he'd picked.

_Are you _freakin'_ kidding me?_ His eye twitched in annoyance and he gave serious thought to finding a rock and making a new window. But he refrained from doing so, and finally after five grueling and stressing minutes the lock clicked and he slid the door back just enough to slip in. Rick glanced around, making sure no one had woken up, and walked through the kitchen. It was rather spacious for a one-story house, one he once imagined himself owning, and the rest of the house was no different. He grinned when he came to the living room.

Latest Macbook? _Oo, I'm takin' that. Jesus, it feels like it I breathe on it wrong it'll snap in half._

60" TV?_ Is this guy compensating for something? He can keep it._

Blu-ray player? _Don't have any movies to play but it's comin' too._

PlayStation 3? _Mine…Wait, why does he have this and a Blu-ray player? Isn't that overkill?_

Rick shook his head clear of the thought, though it still bothered him in the back of his mind.

_People are such idiots._ He thought and turned to his left; a door was there and he guessed it led to the basement. Before checking the rest of the house, he went through the door and down the wooden stairs. Reaching the bottom, he took in the numerous boxes and storage containers he was surrounded by, plus a bright light to his right. Rick realized the light was coming from a bathroom, and after making sure there still wasn't a dog anywhere he crept forward, wondering if anyone was occupying it. Searching for the owner of the house and all the nice stuff he'd be liberating from upstairs, he peeked through the door.

That could have very well been his worst mistake of the night.

Sitting in the tub was a dead man, the homeowner Rick assumed. Well great, now he couldn't take anything; if the cops find the guy's stuff in Rick's hands, they'll put two and two together to get five. Which, of course, means they'll assume he killed the poor sap. Rick stood outside the bathroom, hung his head and rubbed the tense muscles in his neck.

"This is the worst fuckin' week of my life," he groaned.

* * *

A shrill ringing jolted him from his peaceful slumber, and he sat up in bed blindly reaching for his phone on the nightstand. He shivered slightly, as he had shed his shirt before snuggling under the comforter, and didn't bother checking the caller ID before flipping the phone open.

"Grissom," he said groggily into the receiver.

_"Hey. You asleep?"_

"What do you think, Jim? It's my night off."

_"I know and I'm sorry, but I need you."_

"Figures. Remind me to take the battery out of my phone my next night off." He ran his hand through his hair and yawned. "So what is it? Bugs?"

_"No. We're understaffed: Warrick and Catherine have a floater at Lake Mead, and Greg and Nick are working a double over at the Rampart. A 419 just came in."_

"And why can't Warrick or Catherine handle it? A floater at Lake Mead can't require two CSI level 3's."

"_Apparently it does. Their case had a sudden turn of events and they're stuck with it."_

"Of course. Where is it?"

_"Out in Henderson."_ Jim gave him the address.

"You owe me."

_"I know, I know. Drinks at my place after shift? I'll even break out the nice glasses."_

"Yeah alright. I'll grab Sara and meet you at the scene in an hour." Grissom shut the phone, tossed it on the floor and plopped back down on his pillow. The movement caused the brunette wearing one of his oversized shirts to stir.

"Gil? Who was that on the phone?" She glanced back at him.

"We just got called in to a case out in Henderson." He grumbled into the pillow.

"You're kidding," she groaned. "Honestly, the _one_ night we get off together."

"I know, but at least it's not a decomp," he tried to be optimistic. Jim hadn't said, but he sure as hell hoped it wasn't a decomp. Grissom's eye popped open and he glared at nothing, making a mental note to rip Jim a new one if he had called them into a decomp. He sighed and settled back down.

"Yeah but still," Sara noticed he was falling back asleep. "Aren't you getting up?"

"I told him an hour; that gives us a good twenty more minutes. Go back to sleep." Grissom muttered.

"Aw, did I wear you out?" she heard a soft laugh.

"Yes. It has nothing to do with the four triple shifts we _both _worked over the last three weeks."

"Now you're just ruining the joke," Sara admonished, looking down at him with a smirk. His eye popped back open and he wrapped his arm around her middle to pull her back down flush against his body.

"Go back to sleep." He repeated.

* * *

Approximately forty-seven minutes later Grissom and Sara walked up to the modest one-story home on the outskirts of Henderson. Holding the tape up, Grissom caught up to Sara at the front door where Jim Brass stood waiting for them.

"Hey guys. Sorry to call you in on your night off." He apologized again, receiving a small shrug from her and a tired glare from him.

"What do we have?" Grissom walked into the house and glanced around.

"Caucasian male, looks to be in his early twenties. David determined COD was electrocution." Jim informed. "We have the guy who found the body in custody."

"Really? What's his story?" Sara pushed. All three of them looked outside to a man dressed in all black with a defeated expression on his face. He was sitting in the back seat of the police cruiser in handcuffs, muttering something to himself every now and then. He began to gently bang his against the window, and heaved a deep sigh to himself.

"Surprisingly he came clean. He was planning to rob the vic, but says as soon as he saw the body he dialed 911."

"Such a thoughtful guy," Grissom mused.

"Where's the body?" Sara inquired, seeing Jim point to a door.

"In the basement bathtub."

"Bathtub?" Grisson repeated, his mind reverting back to the memories of Paul Millander.

"Different MO, Gil. I will warn you though, it's not a normal scene."

"It rarely is," she replied wryly, following her boss down the stairs. The trio reached the bathroom and stopped right inside of the doorway.

"Well this is unusual." Grissom stated flatly.

The body was sitting upright in the tub, fully clothed in a suit and tie. There appeared to be no outward sign of injury, and he looked to have merely fallen asleep if it weren't for his ghostly pale skin and lack of breath. His clothes were perfect, not a button undone or a wrinkle to be seen; even his shoes were tied perfectly.

_Too perfect._ Grissom frowned as he set his kit down and, after donning his latex gloves, leaned down to touch him.

"There's still remnants of the water in the tub but his clothes are completely dry." He reported. "And not as in they were wet and then dried."

"His clothes were never wet?" Jim clarified, surprised. The supervisor shook his head. "Now _that's_ unusual."

"Have you interviewed anyone yet?"

"A couple of people besides our robber, but haven't learned anything useful pertaining to this case. I'm gonna go flag down some neighbors. Holler if you need anything." Jim left the two CSIs to themselves.

"So, if that's the case," Sara quickly caught onto his previous train of thought, "that means he was redressed _after_ he was electrocuted to death?"

"That's the way it seems. Though, I can't tell if it's a signature or just suggests his attacker had misplaced feelings for him." Grissom said crouched down by the tub.

"The window in here and the front door show no forced entry," Sara observed as she walked through the basement, "and the bathroom has no windows. I think he might have known his killer."

Grissom didn't answer, as he was closely looking on the victim's clothes for any possible hairs or foreign fibers. He meticulously scanned the dead man's skin, but found nothing. He then swithced his attention to the man's hair, picking up the faint scent of the shampoo he used. No blood, no matted hair; he wasn't hit and then dragged to the tub. Grissom glanced to the entrance of the bathroom; the undisturbed rug and the absence of scuffmarks confirmed his theory that the victim was either lured into the tub or got in willingly.

"Gris, I found some bills in the kitchen trash," Sara walked back into the bathroom and he rose to meet her. "Our vic's name is Lorrence Fishburn."

Grissom rose an eyebrow.

"No relation to the actor obviously," Motioning to their vic she couldn't help but smirk, knowing what he was thinking. "Plus he's only twenty-four."

"For some reason I can help but feeling a great sense of relief." He told her, staring off into space. Grissom blinked quickly as he came back to reality. "Find anything else?"

"Not really. He kind of reminds me of you in the sense that he doesn't keep bills or mail lying around."

"That makes our job all the more harder." Grissom remarked sourly.

"I also found the point of entry for our would-be robber: he picked the patio door open leading into the kitchen and entered there. Other than that, I can't explain how our perp got in." Sara shrugged. "What about you?"

"His clothes are spotless." he explained, shaking his head. "And I mean freakishly clean. Not a thread out of place. No hairs, no other fibers, nothing. He has no outward injuries, which suggests he just happened to have already been in the tub when his killer struck, or that he got in willingly. Or, he might have been lured into the tub. There's no real way to tell; I'm going to print the tub, but I doubt I'll find any other his prints."

"You think our perp has some knowledge of forensics?"

"Either that or is just painfully meticulous." Grissom sighed. "I hope those few hours of sleep will hold you, because it's going to be a really long night."

* * *

Out on the other side of the tape, a tall figure stood with their hands in their pockets. They knew the man was exceptionally intelligent the moment he stepped out of that midnight blue Denali. Clad in a collared shirt and black slacks, he was the only thing of interest to the individual. They stood and waited the entire three hours the CSIs were working in the house just to catch another glimpse of him.

**"How neat. I'm impressed…" **they barely whispered in a light singing voice, not wanting to be heard.

**"How did you come to be…so blessed?"**

The vocalist, standing on the edge of the small crowd of people surrounding the yellow crime scene tape, could easily tell he would be a worthy opponent just by the way he carried himself, the way he spoke, and his eyes.

Oh, his…eyes.

**"You're a star. You blaze…**

**out like a sharp machine…"**

Such a deep…mesmerizing blue. But he wore the Las Vegas CSI insignia on his vest, so he was automatically an enemy. An adversary. A foe. A _target._

**"Here we are!" **

In spite of that fact, the vocalist couldn't keep the uncanny smile from creeping up on their face. The individual's beady eyes followed him closely as he walked out of the house and through the yard to grab something out of his truck.

**"You're pins - I'm needles."**

Enemies were merely people who see the world the opposite of oneself. They were placed in one's path to be toyed with, and he would be no different.

_Mr.…Grissom… _they thought as they read his name off his vest, committing it to memory. A dark smirk appeared on their face.

**"Let's play…"**

_TBC!_

_A/N: So whatcha think? Way better start than WH (my other CSI fic for those of you who don't know) huh?_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks for the nice reviews people; you're awesome ^^_

**Chapter 2**

Hours later Grissom took his glasses off and threw them on his desk, rubbing his eyes from exhaustion. This recent case had quickly irked him and his lack of sleep hadn't helped his mood. He'd sent Sara down to the morgue to see what Doc Robbins had found out about their vic; meanwhile he had tasked himself with putting the pieces of the murder together.

He knew Lorrence had been electrocuted; that much was certain. Above the tub on a wooden rack he found a small lamp. It was unplugged but had short-circuited, plus the lamp had no prints on it other than the vic's. Grissom assumed their perp had removed it from the tub and replaced it after Lorrence was dead so they could drain the water and redress him.

But why redress him?

Grissom couldn't wrap his head around the 'Why?' It didn't make any sense. The man had already died; why did he need his clothes?

The CSI sighed quietly and sat back in his chair, unaware he was being watched from his doorway. Sara observed Grissom as he sat in deep contemplation with his hands folded in his lap, staring off into space. She walked into his office and silently shut his door.

"Gil?" His head shot up and his face displayed his shock in finding her standing in front of his desk.

"Oh, hey Sara," he greeted wearily.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine." He quickly reassured. "Did Doc find anything?"

"Well he approximated TOD at about nine hours ago," she answered. "He confirmed COD is electrocution like David said; I had him run a tox panel to see if our vic had any drugs in his system."

"That would help determine how he got in the tub."

"This case makes no sense," Sara shook her head.

"Tell me about it." He muttered while he stretched in his chair. Grissom had that far off look in his eyes as he studied his tarantula.

"What's on your mind, Gris?" He looked at her as she sat down opposite him. He sat forward, resting his arms on the paperwork crowding his desk.

"You remember that case we had about two and a half weeks ago? Vic was found slouched over the steering wheel in her vehicle off North Las Vegas Boulevard?" Grissom began, seeing the flicker of recognition in her chocolate brown eyes.

"The Brooke Lockeheart case. Turns out she had been poisoned over the course of the week prior to her death and was on her way out of the city when she died."

"Right. The interior of the Jeep was spotless, minus the vic's prints and belongings, and all our suspects were cleared."

"What does that case have to do with our current one?" Sara inquired, not seeing the connection.

"Probably nothing." She gave him a confused look. "But it's got the same feel."

"What do you mean?"

"Well first a young woman in her late teens is poisoned and dies on her way out of Vegas, then a man in his twenties is electrocuted in his bathtub, dried, and redressed in his clothes." Grissom explained, shrugging. "It's no MO, since both vics were murdered in completely different manners, and I'm not one to go on merely feelings, but it seems like the same person could have committed both. They leave absolutely no trace of themselves at the scenes and the vics died in unusual ways: no strangling, no shooting, no stabbing."

"Do you want me to pull the files from that case and go through it some more? From your frustrated demeanor I'd safely say we're not going to get much further with this one." He smirked at her ability to read him so easily now.

"Go ahead. I doubt we're going to get any leads on this case anyway. The vic is a small-time lawyer with no living family in Vegas except his eighty-one-year-old grandmother. Brass went out to talk to her a little while ago, but something tells me she's a dead end." Grissom rubbed his eyes again and Sara frowned in concern.

"Are you sure you're alright, Gil?"

"I'm just tired," he answered truthfully, "and my head hurts."

"Is it a migraine?" Sara rose up and leaned against his desk next to his chair.

"Not yet," Grissom reached for her hand to pull her to sit on his lap. She wrapped an arm around his neck, massaging his soft graying curls and feeling him lean into her. Sara smiled inwardly at how he didn't mind the small gesture, and how he had in fact come to like it. "I've got a weird feeling about these cases, though."

"In the fact that they're different enough to be similar."

"Something like that," he agreed, yawning.

"Need some coffee?"

"Not that sludge Ecklie leaves us." Grissom grinned at her. "Some of that Blue Hawaiian Greg thinks he can hide sounds good."

"I don't know where it is."

"I'll find out. I can finally put his fear of me to good use."

"Gris! Leave Greg alone!" Sara said, giving him a surprised look.

"Oh, I'll need more convincing than that." He said in a low voice, not knowing who might be passing his office. She chuckled quietly, leaning close to press their lips together. She lingered briefly before pulling away, though stayed close.

"Now, Mr. Grissom, you are not to manipulate poor Greg." She said sternly, smirking at him.

"Yes, Ms. Sidle." Grissom agreed, still grinning. Hearing footsteps nearing his office door, they quickly separated; she rose up to lean over his desk, both pretending to be interested in the autopsy report.

"Hey Gris, Sar." came Warrick's smooth voice as he entered the room. Sara looked up and smiled at him.

"Hey Warrick," Grissom answered. "How's your case going?"

"Cath and I just wrapped it up surprisingly. She went to see if she can help Nick and Greggo with their double. What're you two workin' on?" Warrick was handed the autopsy report and Grissom's case report as he sat down.

"419; guy found sitting in upright and fully clothed in his bathtub." Sara explained.

"COD was electrocution..." The green-eyed CSI picked up quickly.

"But we've determined that he was dried and redressed after he was killed." Their boss added.

"Are you serious?" Warrick looked up from the report, surprise and confusion written on his handsome features. "What kinda nutcase dries and dresses a dead guy?"

"One of many lunatics residing in this city," he said, shrugging. "Right now we don't have any leads. As I told Sara, Brass went out to talk to the vic's grandmother but I haven't heard back from him. I'd have to guess he hasn't learned anything pertinent to the case."

"What killed him, specifically I mean?"

"A lamp. I found it on a rack above the tub. I'd imagine it was tipped over the edge and was unplugged after the vic was dead."

"And the guy who found the body was planning to rob the joint? I'm not sure I believe that." Warrick smirked.

"Much to our frustration his story checked out." His two CSIs gave him a surprised look. "The prints I lifted from the tub were strickly the vic's, and the only places where Rick Hudson's prints were found were on the laptop in the living room and the patio door."

"Well that's great. Our only suspect is cleared and our perp is a ghost." Sara sighed.

"I just jumped on board with this case and it's already gone cold?" Warrick groaned.

"Unfortunately," Grissom replied. "But you can help Sara pull some files for me."

"Which case?" He inquired.

"It's from a few weeks ago. I'll fill you in on the way." Sara told him, walking past Warrick. He closed the file and followed her out the door. Grissom watched the duo leave and then sighed, running his hand over his face.

"Hey, Gil." The supervisor looked up to find the LVPD homicide captain and his good friend standing in his doorway. "How's the case comin'?"

"It's not. It's gone cold."

"Already? Well then, I guess it won't come as a surprise to you that the grandmother wasn't any help."

"Not really. I expected that."

"She wasn't really that broken up over his death either."

"Really?"

"Nope. She says he had it coming. The vic apparently wasn't a very sociable guy; he kissed a lot of ass and stepped on a lot of people to get where he was." Grissom snorted and grinned.

"Sounds familiar."

"You don't say?" Jim replied with a grin of his own.

_Meanwhile somewhere else in Vegas at that precise moment, Conrad Ecklie sneezed._

"The grandmother gave me a few names of people who might have wanted him dead," he continued, "but no luck. Their alibis all check out."

"This is ridiculous," Grissom frowned gloomily, putting his elbow on the desk and resting his cheek on his fist. "We have a dead guy but no suspects. Perfect."

"Where's Sara?" He asked, changing the subject.

"She and Warrick went to pull files from another case."

"What for?"

"I've got a hunch," Grissom told him, sitting up straight.

"You think the two cases are connected?"

"Without being connected, yes."

"Hmm...This may come across as odd to you, but that didn't make any sense." He rose from his chair and strolled past Jim, who fell instep with him.

"If I had a nickle for every time someone's told me that.." Grissom pushed open the door to the breakroom. "Well, let's just say I wouldn't have to be working right now."

* * *

In another part of the lab, Sara and Warrick were in a layout room reviewing the other case. Crime scene photos were scattered over the table and the two CSIs were refreshing their memories of the case by reading through the casefile.

"So what exactly does Gris expect us to find here?" Warrick asked. Sara looked up from the manila folder she was glancing through and shrugged.

"I'm not sure. Though now that I think about it, he's got a point: Brooke Lockeheart and Lorrence Fishburn were both murdered in two separate ways, but both cases have that same odd feel."

"Like how they both lack a lot of physical evidence to suggest there was any foul play in the first place?"

"Exactly," she agreed. Just then, Nick popped his head in the door.

"Either of y'all seen Grissom?"

"We left him in his office," Sara informed. "Why, what's up?"

"Greg found some sort of bug on our vic's clothes and I need his help on identifying it."

"Try the breakroom." Warrick offered.

"Alright. Thanks!" And just as quickly as he'd arrived, the Texan was gone. The two went back to discussing their case until their one and only boss walked in ten minutes later.

"Did Nick find you?" Sara inquired.

"Yes. I was in Trace talking to Hodges about some fibers I found in the bathroom."

"Anything probative?" Grissom shook his head.

"Generic cotton; could be from practically anything. What about you guys; find anything?"

"There's no physical link between cases, though ironically enough both cases lack a substantial amount of physical evidence."

"Plus, if we take Hudson out of the picture it's the same deal." Warrick said, having his boss' full attention. "The vehicle we found Lockeheart in was painstakingly spotless with the exception of her own prints."

"Exactly like Fishburn in the tub." Grissom followed.

"Right, but that's where the similarities stop. One vic's male, the other female; one was a lawyer, the other a college student; one lived alone, the other had roommates...the list goes on." Grissom moved between the other two and glanced through some of the files.

"Let's switch gears for a sec and focus on the suspects for the Lockeheart case." He shifted his weight onto one leg, leaning up against the table and folding his arms.

"Her three closest friends, who happened to have also been her roommates: Daniel McCrery, Ethan Pryce, and Max Holstein. All age nineteen, and none of them have any priors." The tall CSI was saying after moving to an adjacent side of the table, placing their respective pictures out.

"And they all had alibis." Their supervisor stated, looking to Sara for confirmation.

"Max and Ethan were in Reno while Daniel flew to Colorado to take care of his ailing mother." She relayed from the notes. Grissom scratched his beard in contemplation as he looked over the crime scene photos.

"What do you think?" He asked them.

"I think one of them did it." Warrick spoke up, then explaining, "The vic was poisoned; the only people who had access to her food or drink at any given time were her roommates."

"I agree. At the very least if wasn't one of them, they could possibly lead us to whoever killed her which could potentially be our guy for Fishburn." Sara added. After a moment of thinking, Grissom unfolded his arms and rested his palms out the table near him while shifting his weight to the other leg.

"Alright here's what's going to happen: Warrick, I want you conducting background checks on her friends. Find any skeletons they might have hiding in their closets. Sara, you're coming with me; I want us to continue working the Fishburn case. We have a little research of our own to do.

"Tomorrow, we'll pay a visit to the roommates. Hopefully they can steer us in the right direction to whoever did this."

_TBC!_

_A/N: Alright, so that was a lot of case-related dialogue I know, but the next chapter will introduce my OCs which, in case you don't know, are "the roommates"._


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: _**_Yeah so I have no idea when the next chapter will be out, since I just started college last week and it'll be taking up the majority of my time (especially Japanese!). So I'll try and get some chapters written out when I can, but there's no promises sadly._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 3**

The next day, trio of CSIs and Brass had just arrived at the condo complex and were making their way to the main building. Much to their surprise, one of the roommates walked out and continued presumably to their vehicle, unaware of their presence. Brass went ahead while the CSIs hung back for a moment.

"Daniel McCrery?" He stopped walking, his expression unreadable through his sunglasses.

"Yes?" He replied.

"Captain Brass from Las Vegas PD. My colleagues and I have a few questions for you and your friends." Daniel guardedly watched the other three people come up behind him. "Mind if we go upstairs and talk?"

"Actually, yeah." He jerked her thumb over his shoulder. "I'm about to go pick up my friend Ethan from the library. Our roommate is up in the room, though. You can talk to her."

"Would you mind if one of us went with you? Just as a precaution?" Grissom asked with an obvious ulterior motive. Daniel shrugged and nodded.

"Sure. My truck's this way."

"Warrick," he called. The tall African American walked off with Daniel to his truck. Then the young man suddenly stopped and called to them.

"Just FYI: if no one answers the door she's probably on the roof." The three staying behind all glanced up.

"Up there?" Grissom pointed stupidly, confused.

"Yeah. She climbs up there sometimes."

"To do what?" Sara inquired, just as confused.

"She just likes to hang out up there. Sometimes she'll just sit up there and smoke." Daniel shrugged again and sighed sharply. "I don't know. It's just a heads-up."

"This should be real interesting," Jim commented wryly, holding the door for the CSIs.

"I've already filled my quota of 'interesting' for the week." Grissom stated tiredly. The three went upstairs and, luckily for them, found the third roommate in the room. Twenty minutes later, the remaining CSI and two roommates joined everyone else in the living room of the condo. It was open, meaning there was no real distinction between the living room and kitchen, and the CSIs were scattered about. Jim stood next to the single couch, where Daniel and Ethan sat. Max sat on a barstool next to the island in the kitchen, not bothering to change out of her raggedy black jeans and dirty t-shirt.

"So...what's this all about?" Ethan started, not sure which law enforcement official to address.

"First we'll introduce everyone: I'm Jim Brass," he gestured to himself, then to each respective CSI. "Gil Grissom, Sara Sidle, Warrick Brown."

"I'm Ethan," he followed suit in a bored tone, pointing at his friends. "Daniel; Max."

"Your friend, Brooke Lockeheart, was murdered almost three weeks ago." Sara began, earning an irritated glance from Daniel.

"What's your point?" He snapped.

"We've reopened her case." Grissom informed him. The three friends gave him a shocked look.

"What? Why?" The female asked.

"Where were you the night of the murder?" They fell quiet, glancing amongst each other.

"I was in Colorado. My mom is sick." Daniel spoke up.

"With what?" Jim queried.

"Breast cancer."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Sara told him honestly. He gave her a grateful nod and a sad smirk.

"What about you two?" The homicide captain continued.

"We were in Reno."

"We were helping a friend of ours with a set that night." Ethan recalled. "We were actually the guest guitarists."

"A set?" Warrick repeated. "As in, a band set?"

"Yeah."

"You're in a band?" Grissom clarified.

"Yes, we're in a band. What difference does it make?" Max turned with an exasperate expression on her face.

"You didn't mention that when you were first questioned."

"What difference does it make?" She repeated. "We weren't _here_. What does it matter what we were doing?"

"You'd be surprised," Grissom stated. Max glared at him, a retort on the tip of her tongue.

"Max," Ethan warned. She looked to her friend, and reluctantly fell quiet. For the time being.

"Her killer is still at large and we think he might have struck again." Warrick felt the young woman's intense gaze and immediately felt like he was under his boss' scrutiny. "We're re-exploring this case in hopes it'll lead us to who murdered your friend and possibly someone else."

"So, you're telling us the guy who killed Brooke is some sort of...serial killer?" Daniel ventured, looking between Grissom and the other CSIs.

"No. He's only got two victims; he's no serial." Max answered.

"To be classified a serial killer, one must have three or more victims." Ethan recited, earning himself and his friend odd looks: Daniel's was annoyed, the CSIs' were surprised, and the homicide captain's was confused.

"I'm studying forensics." Ethan said.

"What field?" Grissom inquired.

"Psychology." He nodded, and turned with his colleagues to give Max an expectant look.

"I treasure the art of criminal justice?" She offered.

"Can you give a legitimate answer for once in your life?" Daniel asked her.

"I asked you the same about givin' up those twinkies; seems that obviously didn't work." Max snapped harshly, causing everyone to cringe in shock. Grissom's eyebrow hit the roof while Warrick looked to Daniel and Sara stared at Max, her mouth hanging open slightly. Daniel stood up and Ethan immediately jumped between his friends, holding him at bay.

"Daniel, stop!" He ordered. Max gave him a complacent smile, moving her feet to the top rung of the stool and placing her hands on the cushion between her legs. She looked ready to pounce him; if she could growl she would have. "Daniel!"

"Get out of the way."

"Bring it, Tubby." Max goaded.

"No, don't you _dare_. Max," Ethan pointed at her angrily, "shut up. Or so help me, you'll clean for the next month."

"You don't clean?" Jim questioned innocently, though regretting it as he shrunk back slightly under the intensity of her glower.

"What, just because I'm a woman I cook and clean all day?" Her tone was dripping with acid.

"Alright, everybody just needs to calm down," Grissom intervened, moving next to Max. Warrick moved toward the young roommates also, sensing the tension rising dramatically. Sara watched as Max's leg and arm muscles became rigid with anticipation; as Daniel's expression darkened and his hand shut into a tight fist; as Ethan kept his hand firmly on his friend's chest but his focus on his female friend.

Suddenly a cough echoed from outside, and all hell broke loose.

Daniel burst past Ethan and tried to strangle Max, who fell back and hit her head on the island after he'd punched her a few times; gritting her teeth tightly she grasped his wrist with one hand and gripped his neck with the other. Sara was the first to react, grabbing Daniel's hand to try and loosen his grip; Jim, Grissom and Warrick pulled the angry male off of Max, who sat up with a menacing glare.

"Bastard..." She spat blood over to the side angrily, then bounced to the edge of the island in a crouched position and launched herself at Daniel. She landed with her hands on his shoulders and her feet in his chest, and the entire group collapsed to the ground. The two fighters landed on the coffee table, easily crushing it under their combined weight. Ethan and Sara rushed to help Grissom and the others up while his friends pelted each other senseless.

"Dammit you two, _cut it out!_" He roared, seeing Daniel kick her into the glass cabinet housing all their video games. The glass shattered and fell to the floor covered in blood; realizing his chance Ethan bolted over to Max and restrained her by wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Lemme go!" She growled, blood dripping down her face.

"No Max! Settle down!" He said firmly. Jim and Warrick helped Daniel, while Grissom and Sara watched Ethan in his attempt to calm his friend down. Ethan cupped Max's face and brought it close to his. "Look at me! Max, _look at me!_ Me. Focus on me."

Her breathing gradually evened out as she stared at him, and soon he dropped his hands from her face then heaved a sigh of relief.

"Looks like you've got some bruised or cracked ribs." Warrick told the young man, but looking at his boss.

"Take him to get checked out." Grissom said.

"We'll use my car." Jim told them. "I'll keep you posted." Glancing over his shoulder at his other friend, Ethan watched as he glared at the duo while being escorted out the door to be treated for his injuries at the hospital.

"Get yourself cleaned up." he said curtly. Max fixed him with a steely gaze but silently stalked off to the bathroom. Sighing loudly, Ethan went to the couch and plopped down in exhaustion. "I'm sorry, about all this."

"Don't be." Grissom told him. "Daniel's a big guy; when he wants to fight someone there's not much that can be done to avoid it."

"What's the deal with those two anyway?" Sara inquired.

"To be perfectly honest, I have no idea." Ethan sighed. "In the weeks leading up to Brooke's death they began to bicker with each other. Then after, Daniel started acting different. It's like he hates Max for her dying. And Max doesn't back down from confrontation, especially from him, so it makes it rather hard to keep them from fighting."

"Have they ever physically attacked one another?"

"You mean, other than five minutes ago? No, not that I'm aware."

"Were they close, he and Brooke?"

"The best of friends. We all are. Er, well _were_." Grissom nodded while he pursed his lips.

"Well Ethan we appreciate your time, and we're sorry we caused all this damage."

"Don't worry about it; it's not your fault." Ethan told him, standing and shaking their hands. "Thank you for reopening Brooke's case; nice to know you guys haven't given up on finding her killer."

"Well, we might have found a new lead so we'll see." Grissom stated with a smirk.

"If we know anything, you'll know." Sara said, earning a sideways glance from her boss. The CSIs said their goodbyes and took their leave; Ethan closed the door behind them and Grissom immediately grabbed Sara's arm, motioning his head to the left. When she gave him a questioning look, he placed a finger over his mouth to keep her quiet and led her around the corner, placing their backs against the wall.

"What are we doing?" Sara asked anyway, earning an annoyed 'Quiet!' glare from her boss.

_"What the fuck was that?" _Ethan's voice boomed through the walls. _"You two decide to beat the shit out of each other _for what? _And while LVPD was here?"_

_"What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry?"_

_"No. I want you to tell me why you and Daniel can't fucking get along!"_ He shouted. _"You two used to be best friends. What the hell happened?"_

_"How should I know? I'm not the one who's been on a chronic period for the last six months."_

_"Max, he's been under a lot of stress."_

_"From what?" _she asked petulantly.

_"His mom is dying, and we all lost Brooke last month."_

_"He needs to put her in a home, or get that deadbeat of a dad of his to get off his drunk ass and help his wife."_ She spat.

_"How can you be so heartless?"_ Ethan cried.

_"It's not my damn problem!"_ Max yelled. _"I'm not the one who diagnosed his mom with cancer; I'm not the one who gave him the news of Brooke's death. So what the _fuck_ is he pissed off at me for? I didn't do _anything_ to him!"_

_"Where are you going?"_ they heard Ethan ask about a minute later.

_"…sfield."_

_"Bakersfield?"_ He repeated incredulously, luckily for them. _"Our gig's not till Friday, a good five days away! And the trip only takes four hours!"_

_"There's no real point in me staying here. What do you expect me to do? Help you nurse your boyfriend back to health?"_ Max scoffed despite herself. _"I think I'll pass."_

_"Max.."_ Ethan sighed. _"Max, wait."_

_"What?"_ She said curtly. He knew he should say something to soothe her anger. He wanted to tell her that she was he cherished their friendship and that she was his best friend, possibly more. But instead, his male instincts of saying something stupid kicked in.

_"Can you drop me off at the hospital?"_

_"You're unbelievable. Call a cab."_ She said grimly, opening the front door and slamming it behind her. The snooping CSIs peeked around the corner and watched the angered woman storm down the hallway away from them. Grissom hadn't realized it earlier, but Max was rather attractive: she had curvy hips, a taut stomach, a nice ass, and pleasingly plump breasts. Max was tall, and just glancing at her she looked much older than nineteen years old. Grissom openly stared as she disappeared from view; he then glanced back at Sara, who was staring at him.

"What?" He said, a completely confused expression on his face.

"Did you want to follow her too?" Sara asked half-serious and half-sarcastic, though all annoyed. Grissom grinned at her, causing her to frown.

"No. She's smart; she'll notice. Besides, we need to get back to the lab and delve deeper into these kids' histories."

"You think we're missing something?" she wondered.

"I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. We won't know until we look." Grissom shrugged as he held the door open to the back staircase for her. "Either way if we don't figure out something soon, they might end up strangling each other and then we're back at square one." He paused, frowning. "Again."

* * *

**_A/N:_**_ Yeah. Abrupt ending but I couldn't think of anything else because I just wanted to get this chapter out. When I do I'll repost the chapter. So hope otherwise it was a peachy chapter._


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